Page 22 of Masks and Mishaps

For the record, I am so platonically in love with Cora Flores.

“Hey,” Valeria mentions, frowning at Cora’s phone, where the friend-finder app is open. “Apparently my phone is here…”

Right then, Dalton reaches into the pocket of his jeans and slowly pulls out Valeria’s missing phone.

“Are you out of your mind?” She weaves in front of Cora and me. “You stole my phone?”

“You didwhat?” Lander faces Dalton and narrows his bright blue eyes. “Wait.Wait. Is that why you were grinding on me last night?”

Valeria’s jaw drops, and she gapes at her fiancé before she says, “I’m sorry—English is my second language, so I surely misheard you. It sounded like you said Dalton wasgrinding on you, and you didn’t ask questions.”

For the record, I am so platonically in love with Valeria Fuentes too.

“Dalton likes to grind,” Lander protests, looking around the room as though Dalton’s chronic hip game were an acceptable explanation. “How was I supposed to know he was committing a felony? He grinds oneverything.”

“He does. It’s true,” Everett chimes in before looking at his friend and bobbing his chin. “But screw you, Dalt. Stealing?”

Dalton’s hands fly up now. “I was making sure Essie wasn’t in trouble,” he declares, glancing between Lander and Valeria like he knows the couple is on the verge of Bonnie and Clyding him. His attention lands on Valeria. “I stole your phone forher.”

“How tremendous of you, Dalton,” Cora remarks, stepping around me. “I’d give you a gold star, but I seem to have misplaced it.Maybe it’s with all the fucks I give.”

Dalton looks at Everett before gesturing in Cora’s direction. “Are you going to say anything?”

“No, she’s doing great. She doesn’t need my help,” Everett replies without missing a beat. He bobs his chin at Cora before mouthing, “Love you.”

He loves her. Hereallyloves her. And the smitten expression that breaks through Cora’s objectively terrifying glare is exactly how a woman is supposed to look when a man tells her he loves her.

The expression on my face has nothing in common with the beguiled one on Cora’s because Dalton doesn’t love me—which is fine because I don’t love him either. We’re friends. Anything he says to the contrary is a dopamine crash waiting to happen or classic Dalton chaos.

For the next few seconds, I tune out our friends bickering around us and take in the handsome guy on the couch. His expression is somber, gloomy even, and for once, I don’t get him.

Understanding Dalton has never been difficult for me. He’s not a simple guy by any means, but he typically says what’s on his mind. The few things that have gone unsaid haven’t been difficult for me to unpack. Raising three younger brothers who all went through puberty within two years of each other has given me plenty of practice with this particular brand of predictable unpredictability.

But I don’t understand why Dalton—after abstaining for two years—could say he loves me at the worst possible time.

“Valeria is right. Are you out of your mind?” I question, and the room goes silent when I finally speak.

Dalton was avoiding eye contact, but he looks up. As usual, even when the guy has spun up a category five shitstorm, his expression softens when he sees me—which is so confusing after he ignored my messages all morning.

“I want everyone to leave except Dalton,” I announce—and the silence shifts into a collective freeze.

“Are you sure?” Valeria asks, speaking first. “I’ll cancel my study group if you need me.”

“I want to talk alone.” I focus on Dalton as I speak. “He and I have a lot to cover.”

It’s no surprise Everett is the first one to stand. If any of us can respect a request for privacy, it’s the guy whose governor/father used to keep a file of extortion on him. He puts his hand on my shoulder as he passes. “Go easy on Dalt,” he requests. “He’s sensitive.”

“Fuck off,” Dalton calls out from across the living room, proving Everett’s point.

Everett winks at Dalton before he faces Cora, leans down, and whispers, “You busy now?” while sporting an outright lusty expression, which makes Cora wrinkle her nose and say, “You watched me verbally decimate your best friend, and it made you horny. You need more therapy.”

“You’ve got half a PhD.” He bites his lip and asks, “Want to be my doctor?”

Cora exhales languidly. “I hate that this works on me,” she mutters before facing me. “Text me. Anything, anytime. I’ll leave him half done and blue balled if you need me.”

“Of course.”

Next, Lander—who, as a former lawyer, never stops anyone from saying their piece—snickers while he leads Valeria to the door, motioning for Pierre to follow. “Everett seriously thought he was going to be the President of the United States. Now look at him.”

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